Keep Repeating: Change is good.

I am having to remember that I did this for all the right reasons. There is little to celebrate at the moment so I must keep reminding myself that change is good, otherwise I will start withdrawing and burying myself again – and that serves no-one, least of all my family.

It's been a hard week for another reason. Tony has been busy with a visitor from the US. This guy has been going through the same journey as both of us and Tony's been chatting to him for months. By all accounts, they're having a great time… which leaves me on my own. No, I'm not self-pitying – well maybe a bit… I'm allowed. It's been a rough couple of weeks and months.

My wife finally decided to take a trip up to London to meet Caitriona (26) and Sebastian (23) – child 2 & child 3 – on Sunday. This presented me with an opportunity to join a gay meetup for Sunday lunch and a follow-on at Flirt's (a coffee, cake and beer hangout – I know…). It's a great place, not just for the LGBT crowd, with loads of comfy sofas and tables. We settled in and I was the only one to stick to beer – I don't mix beer & coffee 🙂

It was really fun and I met some great guys I will definitely be keeping in contact with. I slipped up at one point by saying “we” bought a house and ended up telling them my story. I think they were quite shocked, but they were nice about it and after the initial embarrassment, they made me feel completely at ease.

Part of my story which seems to come up a lot is my gay relationship back in my early 20s. The AIDS “tombstone” ad was running on TV at the time. No-one really knew anything about the disease except that if you go it, you would die a fairly horrible death – and that the LGB community was particularly affected (I don't think the “T” had been added to the end of the acronym yet, and I also think that most people thought Bisexuality was a myth, or just greedy).

Here I hesitate to go into too much detail, but I did admit to ending up in A&E (the ER to you ‘Murcans). I still am trying to recognise that person who would let himself be assaulted so badly he would end up with 3 cracked ribs, a cracked tibia and two black eyes and countless bruises.

My explanation? I fell.

Needless to say, they didn't believe me. I was kept in hospital for two days while the shrinks did their stuff and they convinced me to move out. One of the social workers even accompanied me to pick up my stuff. We got to the flat and I realised I was shaking. My guardian angel rang the bell. My erstwhile boyfriend Paul answered the door and smiled. Not a nice smile, a sort of cold, dismissive one.

“You back?”

“No. Just getting my stuff”. I shuffled past him.

Hi watched me shoving my clothes and my precious books into a couple of suitcases only slightly hampered by the cast on my left arm.

“You're straight, you know”

I looked back at him, tears in my eyes. One of my – his – mates was sitting on the sofa. I looked over for support but he looked away. He was uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to say anything. It both broke and hardened my heart.

“I'm not straight. But if being gay means you get beaten up and forced to have sex, then I don't want it. I don't want anything to to do with you or anyone you associate with who could let you do this to me, or stand by.” I couldn't even face the prospect that I may have been raped. Even as I write this, I have had to pause. Do I really want to re-live this? Do I want to write this down? Do I want to publish this?

“Fuck off and get out! You've got your stuff, so bugger off.” were his parting words.

I didn't answer. I left without turning around, leaving behind 4 months that could've changed my life. I never saw him again. The shaking also eventually stopped.

I left with the guy from social services (or wherever he was from) and we went to a temporary accommodation where I basically curled up in ball and waited for the nightmare to pass. It didn't, of course. Not straight away. But I still had to go to work, look for a place to live, and start to piece my life back together.

And I had two pieces of unfinished business:

Firstly, to say goodbye to my friends at Madame Jojo's – a transvestite review bar in Central London. The bouncer had had a crush on me and the staff considered me a bit of a mascot and looked after me the best they could – I think because in those days I looked barely older than 12. I told them (most) of what had happened, and said that I needed space to recover. I'd see them soon. I had every intention of going back, but never did. That was the last time I set foot in the place. Sadly it closed in 2014. Another gay London venue that fell victim to the Westminster council's war against the unusual and quirky.

The second thing was to take an HIV test. That time waiting for the results was really scary, but I was lucky. I took a second one to be sure.

I found a place to live – well, my work had me travelling so frequently, they put me up in this cool pad in Russel Square in London so I could be ready to jump on a plane any time. I buried myself in work for 2 years. Partly because of work, partly because I was incapable of facing the gay community again, I became a loner. I met people in passing, trying not to make friendships that mattered.

After 2 years of nearly constant travel and high stress work, I sort of burnt out and was transferred to Belgium where I met my wife. That relationship turned out to be everything the previous one had not been – loving, gentle, fun – and the rest is history. I buried Paul and my gay past, preferring to be bisexual. Preferring not to deal with that part of me and scared I would be pulled back into it, only to experience the same abuse again.

No way. Never again. So that's why it's taken me over 35 years to come out, I guess. We all have our stories. Perhaps mine is more tragic than most – perhaps it isn't – but I regret none of my decisions. I don't hate Paul. Without him, I may never have met my wife, would never had kids. I think I would have been a lesser man. I wonder what happened to him… Do I care? Chances are, he's dead.

When I started this post, I didn't intend to write about this. I am crying now, but they are good tears. It is the start of a process of dealing with something that happened a long time ago and which I can now start to deal with.

As I said. change is good, right?

Right?

The names of the people and some of the places have been changed to protect both me and them. I'm sure you understand.